


Their Eyes Were Watching M

by Linorien



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Community: MI6 Cafe | mi6_cafe, Gen, Other characters implied, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:14:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23744386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Linorien/pseuds/Linorien
Summary: After M's death, they mourn.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 6
Collections: MI6 Cafe Collections





	Their Eyes Were Watching M

**Author's Note:**

> Concrete poetry, or shape poetry, or visual poetry, is meant to look a particular way on the page: it’s written to form a particular image or shape that enhances the poem’s meaning.  
> Written for [Choose Your Own Adventure April](https://mi6cafe.wordpress.com/2020/04/01/choose-your-own-adventure-april/): Kananga’s Cave: Kill a character you’ve never harmed before

**Their Eyes Were Watching M**

The storm of the Nine Eyes came upon us swiftly and without warning. We were focused elsewhere until our gaze was ripped away.

The signs were there; I’m sure he saw them. He was bound by laws and protocols. As were we all. 

When disaster stuck, he bore the brunt of it. Faced the politicians like a hanged man. He fought for us. Drew their ire and attention. Used their own tactics against them. We were proud.

Careful in all that he did. Attention to detail that saved the day. Yet it was only that day. 

That day and many others, yes. But it only takes one day when it is not enough.

The bullet came not from a grand criminal organisation. It was not a cold revenge scheme, plotted for years and finally at fruition. It was not an enemy, not even a rival who defeated him. God I wish it was because then we would have something to fight. A mission to embark on. But his death was not so well predicated that there will be a video waiting. Only an empty flat.

An empty flat where we retire to after the funeral. Seems a waste to let all the liquor be drunk by new owners. So we drink and remember him. Remember the man we gazed at in spite and adoration, in war and in peace. Shame that a simple misfire could’ve taken so much. 


End file.
